"I've read it through," said I, advancing into the room,—"and I want to know if you'll forgive me—if you can forgive me?"
She did not answer, but her eyes glistened, and a faint red mantled on her lip and cheek. As I approached, she abruptly turned away, and went to the window. It was not in anger, I was well assured, but only to conceal or controul her emotion. I therefore ventured to follow and stand beside her there,—but not to speak. She gave me her hand, without turning her head, and murmured, in a voice she strove in vain to steady,—
"Can you forgive me?"
It might be deemed a breach of trust, I thought, to convey that lily hand to my lips, so I only gently pressed it between my own, and smilingly replied,—
"I hardly can. You should have told me this before. It shows a want of confidence—"
"Oh, no," cried she, eagerly interrupting me, "it was not that! It was no want of confidence in you; but if I had told you any-
